


Sleepy Town

by endae



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Introspection, Napping, Pre-Episode: s02e11 Not What He Seems, Sibling Love, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14190063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endae/pseuds/endae
Summary: There were a number of anomalies in Gravity Falls, but none quite as puzzling as the way the rain could lull them in the daylight.(Or: The twins doze off in the middle of a stormy afternoon, and Dipper wakes to an identity crisis. Pre-NWHS.)





	Sleepy Town

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr Link](http://endae.tumblr.com/post/130888403505/sleepy-town)   
>    
>  _As I've implied with most of them, a lot of these fics are being cross-posted from a time when GF episodes were still coming out. As expected, a lot of them took some wrong turns - this one especially. It was a prediction fic predating NWHS based on some meta posts floating around at the time about Dipper's possible future characterization in the show. So...take it with a grain of salt. It ended up pretty off-mark._
> 
>  
> 
> _The only context you need is if Dip & Mab's roles were reversed - that is, "what if Mabel's the one moving on to greater things and he's the one being left behind?"_
> 
> _Anyway, enjoy!_

It’s a dark afternoon when they’re chased out of the forest.

What begins as a thrill-seeking expedition becomes a race for their lives when Dipper takes one too many steps into a hidden patch of dry twigs. For once, it’s his mistake that puts Mabel’s life in danger instead of the other way around, and the guilt of it hangs so heavily that he thinks it may truly be slowing him down.

A single snap. That’s all it took for the creatures of the forest to sic after them, angry and relentless. A pack of savages, wolves or otherwise, but Dipper isn’t about to risk their lives to look back and find out.

The instinct hits him like a train, and he snatches blindly for Mabel’s sleeve.

“We’ve got to get out of here!”

He doesn’t give her more than that as a warning before he’s jerking her to follow.

The trees whizz by in blurs. It’s an eternity of running, of harsh panting and stealing frightened glances between the both of them. With every step, their options dwindle. Their heads are too wrapped up in just running to do any more than just that. Hide? No, too risky. Scale the trees? Even worse—

What Dipper first mistakes as a roar echoes through the trees as a clap of thunder. When he feels the faintest of droplets splash against his nose, he wonders just how much worse their luck could get.

A lot, apparently.

In their haste to evade their attackers, they hit a thick patch of trees insistent on getting them caught. Their branches seize down to swipe at them with sharp and blind attacks. Scratches and cuts mar his bare arms, and to his own distress, finds that Mabel’s sweater catches more branches than they could afford time for.

His plea for her to take it off dies on his tongue when she does quite the opposite, bounding the material tighter against her to bunch up whatever cloth hung loose.

With unhinged jaws and sharp claws, the beasts were gaining territory on them fast.

It’s there, it’s right _there_. Like a tattered salvation, he spots the familiar worn lettering of the Shack, its weathered porch, and—

And they’re nearly there when Dipper hears Mabel cry out next to him, blood running cold.

His head is whipping back to hers the moment the impulse reaches him — _they got her_ , but no, they haven’t. Not yet. Without having to guess, Dipper’s eyes dart to the uprooted trees that have snagged her foot.

But it’s the flash of terror in her eyes — the way it stops his heart — that propels him to _move_.

Dipper skids to a stop the second he has the power to, retreating to yank her up from the ground by both her arms. No time. _No time._ He’s a few breaths short of a full-blown panic, and doesn’t grant Mabel the moment to steady herself before he’s fumbling for her hand to take off again.

Mabel stumbles a few steps in, but he makes sure she never falls. If they go down, they go down together.

It’s a mad dash for the Mystery Shack, but even the living room doesn’t cut it for him. The adrenaline is still pumping too fast in his veins when they barge through the front door, and it sends him clambering for the staircase without second thought.

Two by two, Dipper races up them with Mabel right behind. His death grip on her hand never lessens, to the point where he’s practically dragging her in the home stretch. Their little haven of a bedroom is the only place they’ve ever truly felt protected, some rickety sanctuary that’s always ever felt just safe enough.

It’s barely four o'clock when they burst back into the attic.

Their sudden intrusion all but startles Waddles, ripping a terrified shriek from the poor pig. In his panic, he stumbles on his own hooves before diving for a pile of Mabel’s sweaters, ears shielding his eyes. Mabel spares her beloved pet only a passing glance, gasping for air and doubled over.

When Mabel's too worn out to comfort her pig, and Dipper does nothing more than toss the journal atop his bed, it speaks volumes to how spent they are. He's shaky standing on his legs, and Mabel mirrors her own fatigue by the way her hand is pressed against her chest, still painfully trying to catch her breath.

By the time he’s caught it, she's still wheezing a little harder than he is. But she gives him a thumbs up amidst her silence as the smallest relief.

“That was….that was close.”

She only nods. It’s all she can do.

Dipper hovers by the wall a moment longer, arm outstretched to hold his balance while the other undoes his shoe laces. He has every intention of sitting down the moment he’s able to, but Mabel doesn't even make it to her bed. Breathless, she collapses headfirst into the bean bag chair stationary at the front of their room.

"I'm staying here...foreverrrr..." she murmurs, most of it muffled through the fabric.

In their exhaustion, it isn’t too drastic a thought.

Mabel’s nowhere close to recovering, and Dipper finds himself dreading the aches to come. Just standing still, he already feels the cramp starting to bloom in his legs — a telling sign they’re going to hurt ten times worse come tomorrow morning. The panic’s left and it’s taken the adrenaline numbing him with it, and he knows there’s a world of hurt waiting for him when he wakes up.

When he doesn't say anything back to her immediately, Mabel frees her face from the chair to look his way. She frowns. "You look tired, bro-bro."

_'You and me both,'_ he thinks, but his throat is still too strained to say much at all.

His lack of a response is still enough of one for her. Wordless, Mabel pats a crater next to her, ushering for him to come join her. He doesn't have to think twice about it really — his mess of a bed makes the decision for him. He pays one look at the mountain of books and papers strewn atop the mattress, and shrugs. Dipper frees himself of his shoes, vest, and hat, dropping them all in a heap before plopping down in the space she’s made for him.

They sigh in unison, melting into the bean bag.

When the rustle of the beads conforming to their bodies slows, it's only then that they realize the storm they’ve narrowly escaped that’s overtaken the town. The light droplets that had grazed them, now pelting the trees and window. It’s thick and heavy, a loud pitter-patter of large drops falling to larger puddles, and the sound of it is far more mesmerizing in their weary states. Melodic and a bit hypnotizing, they surrender everything just to listen and try to calm their still frantic hearts.

There’s plenty they could both be saying. _"That was really close," "I'm glad you're okay," "I'm sorry I scared you," "Please be careful next time,"_ but they’re mere notions and nothing more, scattered to a wind carrying more than just its raindrops. It’s captivating, Dipper thinks, how soothing it could be, the way it made their sore muscles lax and their eye lids heavy.

There were a number of anomalies in Gravity Falls, but none quite as puzzling as the way the rain could lull them in the daylight.

At twelve years old, they’re too old for naps and too excited to ponder the thought. Spending even a moment of the afternoon snoozing away indoors seemed pathetic. It’s bizarre, he thinks, to be tempted by the whispers of sleep when the sun is nowhere close to setting.

Dipper’s lost in his thoughts for a short while, tugged away only by the choked snort at his side.

Mabel's gone within minutes.

She's made herself at home, lying sprawled the way she does with one arm outstretched and the other draped across her chest. There’s already a line drool rolling down from the corner of her mouth, and it’s about as ungraceful as she can get…but a peaceful sight, nonetheless. After what he’d just put her through, it’s a more-than-welcome picture.

It’s in seeing her slumbering state that Dipper begins to feel the exhaustion creep in on him, too.

It’s not every day he sprints like that. Not every day he has to juggle navigating to safety, and carrying half of his sister’s weight along with him. As if merely thinking about it could make it real, he feels the strain on his body worsen the longer he stares at his sleeping sister. It’s enough to trust that a few minutes of rest were well deserved.

Following Mabel’s suit, he reclines his head back and closes his eyes.

For all its oddities and horrors, Gravity Falls is rightfully a sleepy town when it tries to be.

* * *

 When Dipper comes to a few hours later, there are two things he notices immediately — the first is the darkness that’s fallen over the room.

The second is the blanket lain over both of them.

Even in his grogginess, he knows the answer even before the question of how it got there. Mabel is as still as when she first lied down, and unless he’s been sleepwalking, so has he.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, slowly. All while he tries to clear his mental fog, there’s a part of him struggling to comprehend that he actually _slept_ , when idea of it was laughable as of late. Dipper yawns and rubs his eyes into wakefulness, but quickly finds he can’t stop. Every free breath is caught in another, so much so that his eyes start to water in the wave of them.

Only stronger indicators of his sleepless nights beginning to catch up with him. It’s a cry for help if anything, warring against him to take it easy after spending too many of them pouring his labors into the journal.

If that was the case, it was winning — his eyes are so hard to keep open that Dipper absently wonders why he’d woken up at all. He could feel himself slipping once again, for good this time, and welcomed it.

But before completely resigning himself to sleep, he hears the whisper in the back of his head. Some small voice of reason urging him to move to his own bed. And maybe it isn’t such a bad idea — it's so much bigger than a shared bean bag. He’ll destroy his back if he sleeps here, and as his body’s just demonstrated, it’ll give him the rest he truly needs. And oh does he need it, after too many nights waking to trembling hands and sweat-drenched sheets.

Before he has the chance to second guess himself, Mabel makes the choice for him.

For all the hours she’s lied still, she’s chosen that exact moment to stir. Dipper glances her way when she shifts around in her sleep, tucking her legs up higher on the chair. Her arm nearest to him shrinks a little closer to her chest, and he watches as she turns onto her side slowly, her left arm swooping over…

It’s too late when he realizes.

Before Dipper has the chance to dodge it, Mabel’s arm collapses over on top of him, trapping him in place with a tight squeeze around his middle. He emits a startled gasp at the sudden movement, frozen in place as she mashes their cheeks together. It’s in the moment that he genuinely has no idea what to do, but his depleting air supply quickly figures it out for him.

He tries worming his way out of her hold, poking lightly at her chest.

“Mabel?” he whispers, inching as best he could away from her. Nope. “Mabel, _c’mon_ —”

Nope. Make matters worse. Her only response is to cling to him harder and closer like one of her stuffed animals. Dipper squirms against her iron grasp of him, but even he knows it’s useless against her dead weight. He deadpans to the ceiling, slumping back in defeat.

_‘Guess that answers that question…’_

He can’t say he’s too bothered.

Mabel had an alarmingly stiff hold in her sleep, but not uncomfortably so. Slow as not to rouse her, Dipper shifts a small bit around to make himself comfortable. It’s ironically as he scooches closer that she eases up her grip a little, and he seizes the moment to put a few inches between them.

Out of instinct, he pauses to look her over, too.

Sleeping soundly. He knows she's warm enough in her sweater, but it doesn't stop him from glancing over to see if she has enough of the blanket anyway. Granted, it’s unnecessary — it wrapped both of them entirely, covering the whole bean bag and then some. But _‘just in case’_ has always been good enough of an excuse.

Content with just that, he hikes his legs up higher to curl himself into a familiar ball. A change of pace from his own sprawled state (without any books on his chest, no less), but fitting for now. The rain’s put a chill in the air tonight, but he’s too cozy to get up and close the window.

He melts into it a little deeper.

Just for tonight. Why not, right? There were plenty of summer nights left to sleep in his own bed. In the same vein, there was no telling how many more nights, if any, they had left to sleep like this — wrapped up close the way they were, safe and sound in the other’s grasp. It’s comfortably reminiscent of their younger years.

_‘It’s definitely been a while.’_

It’s been ages since the last time, now that he thinks about it.

That’s right. Back in the second grade. Back when they could both still fit snuggly inside a single couch throw, when their fear of the dark was still a very real problem. In alarming clarity, he remembers it: the night a storm no different from this one had struck Piedmont. The night they took sleepy refuge in the living room, by the window.

The world was as good as gone that night — angry gales shaking the house, the howling in the trees — but of all the sensations to commit to heart, the one of Mabel’s hand clasped in his comes the clearest.

The memory’s warm, for a moment.

But the soothing glow of it fades, the more he thinks it.

That was then. This is now.

They’re a few months shy of thirteen. The turning point of everything. After they blow out the candles, it’ll be time to let go of what he’d already been ready to let go of years ago. The baggage that came with being a child, so ready to discard at the mere thought of teenage-hood. Toss it all away, with what few precious aspects lay hidden beneath the surface.

He’s in too much of a rush to grow up to just let these things happen.

He always has been, hasn’t he?

For something he’s never given too much thought to before, Dipper finds it growing more daunting the longer he thinks it over. It all comes as an avalanche of too many feelings that the isolation of the night only seems to exaggerate.

Because there would surely come a day when they couldn’t do this anymore, if it wasn’t the last day of summer.

Losing childhood meant losing the good that came with it. He’d been so willing to toss it all away, yet it strikes some chord within him that he didn’t even know existed. It’s in being suddenly faced with it (‘ _alone’)_ that the suppression finally breaks to let the flood in.

When exhaustion isn’t enough to push it all away, mental struggle acts as the last barrier. Push it away, shove it to the back of his head for a time that isn’t this one, _but no, that’s what was bound to happen to them, to grow up like that, apart-_

He’s had a taste of this. Meant only as a passing thought, it invites a strange type of apprehension into him — the feeling no different from the only night they’d slept apart. So eager for a room of his own, he can still recall the loneliness of wishing an empty room goodnight. The hollowness settling in his heart feels familiar.

Because for as mature as he wanted to be taken at times, there was something inaudibly daunting about leaving behind the few graces of childhood worth savoring. A quieter world. Fewer responsibilities.

And from thin air, it comes as an afterthought, but stings the most: the closeness between him and Mabel.

Another wave of it hits him. There’s so much taken for granted. The sense of connection. The comradery. From seemingly nowhere, it leaps at him too — the little acts of affection between them, the ones so much more commonplace when they were younger. There were aspects of their bond that had a ticking timer, but only tonight has it ever felt like the clock was counting down too fast.

And the idea of having to abandon those childish comforts entirely is more than he can handle right now.

Because…what kind of teenagers did stuff like that? How weird would that look to other people?

Would they even meet other people if they kept that up?

In the dark, he’s ready for the night to take him. It always does. It takes and it takes, and it leaves him gasping for air warmer than the kind filling up his lungs. All while it does, it reminds him. Time to face this. Some sacred link destined to come undone, for them to outgrow each other. That’s the order of things. Grow up and grow apart, grow distant and grow colder…

As if she can read his thoughts in her sleep, Mabel pulls him from them right when he needs her to.

Unprovoked, she emits a sleepy moan from off to the side of him — followed by the most telling, most healing gesture he could ever ask for: her hand, previously limp at the side of him, turns to curl into his shirt.

It renders him breathless, when he sees it.

He waits for her to move. Waits for unconscious tendency to loosen it, retract it back.

She doesn’t.

And he keeps staring. Little eternities pass as he does, and it’s with each passing second that his mind grows steadier. Peace of mind finds him, reaching out from the dark. There’s a hand still grasping at his side. There’s the weight of his sister’s arms around him, some featherlight anchor helping to ground him in the present.

He won’t be made a victim of his own mind tonight, if she can help it.

Before he lets his eyes slip closed for the last time, he’ll nestle his head slightly closer to Mabel’s. The touch of warmth from her forehead to his, in its own innocent magic, brings the quiet comfort to his own unsettled thoughts. Mere contact and nothing else, helping them fade piece by piece into the night.

It’s all he needs.

Silence falls over the attic, a stillness broken only by soft breathes and the faint trickling of styrofoam beads. He greets it with a clearer mind, a lighter spirit, and some fading, absent plea to put the thoughts out of mind.

_(He doesn’t know it yet, but they’ll be gone by morning.)_

* * *

At half past eleven, the door to the attic creaks, but not loud enough to wake them. It never has before.

Bracing the possibility that they’ve awoken, Stan’s twice as leery opening the door this time, only doing so enough to peek in and check on them. They dozed off early, he’d expect them to be wide eyed and energized this late. But they haven’t. He has the feeling nights like these won’t come by very often.

He hovers in the doorway’s crack for longer than they’ll ever know, watching. He does it more often than they’ll ever think to guess.

Like so many nights before, Stan runs through the vague checklist in his head, give or take a moderation or two. No bats or other wildlife taking refuge in the room. Check. Asleep in their beds. Not exactly, but they’re home. The flame in the lantern is out. Just for tonight, he’ll dare leaving the window open in lieu of risking the traitorous wood he’d walk on to close it.

One more sweeping glance, and Stan eases the door back closed, as if he’d never been there at all.

The Shack goes silent, and the rain picks up a little more, and a little more.

In the attic, they’ll stay slumbering. Two children wrapped in a cradle of an attic with only each other to hold. Through the night and into the first light of morning, they won’t let go of one another. They’ll stay that way like they’re meant to be, bound together by more than just the blanket shielding them from the cool nighttime air.

From beyond their walls, all is quiet. A town sung to sleep to the tune of storm. One by one, the porch lights go out, like makeshift stars bidding the night farewell. In a place so grappled with the unknown, it’s a forgiving reminder of peace living within the shadows. Unlike the monsters of the woods, they’re safe tonight, the creatures sent fleeing by the rumbles in the hills.

There are claps of thunder, but they can't touch the twins.

They're dreaming of the forest.


End file.
